


Parallels

by rivlee



Category: Spartacus Series (TV)
Genre: Gen, Spartacus Fan Challenges
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-16
Updated: 2015-05-16
Packaged: 2018-03-30 21:30:45
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,474
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3952480
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rivlee/pseuds/rivlee
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Two scenes between Spartacus and Nasir in the early days of Vengeance.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Parallels

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Steorie](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Steorie/gifts).



> An expanded prompt fill for Steorie originally posted on my tumblr [here](http://antiquecompass.tumblr.com/post/110261189660/steorie-replied-to-your-post-alright-i-give)

"Again," Spartacus commanded.

Nasir tightened his grip on the sword. The weight remained heavy and unfamiliar in his hands even after Spartacus swore it would become light as a feather. Each morning they rose before the dawn to train while the others slept. Each night Nasir looked at the large blisters and bleeding cuts on his once soft hands. Chadara brought him oils and strips of fabric to use as bandages but he refused them all. He was no longer Tiberius. His hands were no longer delicate things to please a master. They were his own now and would bare the marks _he_ chose for them.

Nasir stumbled as Spartacus threw the weight of his body into Nasir's shield.

"Distraction will see you to the Afterlife," Spartacus warned.

Nasir grimaced as the muscles in his forearm throbbed. He grit his teeth, raised his head, and resumed his defensive position.

Spartacus grinned. "You do not complain even now. I can see the pain in your eyes."

"Pain is not a stranger," Nasir said. 

Spartacus nodded. "I imagine it is not. You were born a slave?"

"I was born free," Nasir said. "I was stolen from my homeland like so many others in this house."

"Yet you still made attempt on my life," he said. There was no accusation in his tone, just an ever present curiosity.

"I knew my dominus," Nasir said. "I did not and do not know you. Choice was still taken from me when you came here. I would not see every soul in this house put to death on the whims of a strange new master. If I was to die—if I am to—let it be by my own actions.”

"Even if it led to your own death at the hands of my brothers?"

Nasir sputtered. "What brothers do you have here? Your own leadership is divided. The Gaul would've broken my neck if it truly pleased him to do so. Either way they remain no brothers of mine. Even now they lurk in the shadows, questioning your judgment to train me."

Spartacus blinked at that, surprise clear on his face before it went blank. He turned to study the darkened doorways.

"Agron," Spartacus called out.

"Do not forget the other," Nasir advised. He remained in his stance in case the other men attacked.

Agron motioned to his side and the other man emerged beside him. Nasir did not recall his name, though his hair was shaved close to his skull.

"Donar," Spartacus said. He laughed at the both of them. "Do you both miss Doctore's teachings so much you would lurk like thieves in the night?"

"Only to see that the wild little dog doesn't tear you to shreds," Donar said. 

Agron remained quiet, though his eyes were a heavy weight on Nasir's skin. He came closer, circled around him, and tapped his arm holding the shield. 

"Drop this," he said. He turned to Spartacus. "It is time he learned to fight for us, rather than hide behind his own shield."

"And he might throw it at you in a final act of a fight," Donar said. 

Nasir was close enough to see Agron's fists clench. He nodded at the other two before he blended back into the shadows.

Donar and Spartacus exchanged a glance full of obvious concern though neither called after Agron. They turned back to Nasir. Donar handed two short swords to Spartacus. 

"Show him your form, Bringer of Rain."

**********

There was still blood on Nasir’s hands, dried and flaking, and mixed with the dirt under his nails. He had yet to wash it off. He’d taken, or helped to take, multiple lives in these past weeks. It wasn’t the first time he had in all in his years, but there was a difference between slipping poison into someone’s food or wine on the order of his dominus and using a sword.

“Eat,” Spartacus said as he held a bowl out to Nasir. “All fighters must keep up their strength.”

“Should not all who follow be worthy of meal?” Nasir asked as he took the bowl.

“Yes,” Spartacus said. He sat down beside Nasir. “They eat as well.” 

Nasir looked at the bowl of rice and grain.

“I swear no one has pissed in it,” Spartacus said. “I cannot say the same courtesy was shown to me when I first found myself among the Brotherhood. Or Agron and—” he stopped. “It is a tradition I do not wish to continue.”

“And do the Gauls know of that?” Nasir asked. 

It was not his place to ask, and better sense told him to hold his tongue, but Chadara was not the only one who know struggled to figure out how to find security and power. Many of those who stood loyal to the Gauls saw little value in the newest members of the Rebellion. 

“We have traded words,” Spartacus said. His eyes fell to the dark haired woman, Mira, who walked along the perimeter, stopping to speak with many as she tracked her course. “We will exchange them again if the need arises.”

The honest admission struck Nasir and he wondered at why, out of all who stood before them and came from his house, _he_ had taken the eye of the leader. It wasn’t to warm his bed. It wasn’t to carry his pack. Nasir could understand initially overseeing his training because the others refused. Much change had occurred in the past weeks though, and Agron and Donar both had spent time teaching him. Even Crixus, leader of the Gauls, had become something approaching pleasant.

“Why do you care?” he asked.

Spartacus smiled. “Because I was shown a kindness and offered friendship when by all rights I should have been dead.” He put his bowl on the ground and showed the brand on his arm. “The Thracians called me Little Man, and I was burdened with the name Rabbit during my first months in the ludus.”

“You?” Nasir asked. “I would find such words more false than true.”

“True they remain,” Spartacus said. “I admit I was unruly and undisciplined, and a wild little dog such as you. I was brought low, as low as a man can possibly be and still take air into his lungs. I was given many chances, Nasir. Many chances when I should’ve seen death long ago. And now here we are and I stand a leader among all these free men and women.”

Nasir had seen the burgeoning respect so many of the Rebels--not the gladiators, but the former house slaves and farm workers--carried for the man.

“How did you become such a fighter then?” he asked. “How does a rabbit become the Bringer of Rain?”

“A very dedicated, demanding teacher,” Spartacus said.

“And where does he stand now?” Nasir asked. “I see no such legend among your company. Did he fall?”

Spartacus’ fists clenched. “He is a man who seeks penance for what he views as a betrayal of his honor. He does not yet see that the House we came from dishonored _him_. I do not know all of his tale and cannot speak to his motivations.” He gripped the back of his shoulder and softly laughed. “Though I do still feel the sting of his whip at times. He is one of the many who serve as reminder for me, to be better, to be _more_.”

Nasir did not have words to match such conviction. They lapsed into silence as they ate their meal. Nasir instinctively reached for Spartacus’ empty bowl when they had both finished, a light tap to his wrist stopped him from leaving.

“We are not servant and master here,” Spartacus said. “Everyone has their task to find their own purpose. Maria will be around to collect the bowls. It is her duty and she takes pride in it.”

Nasir sat back down and relaxed into the cool stone walls they leaned against.

“You still have not explained why it’s me you’ve sought out to train.”

“I have not,” Spartacus admitted. “I do find reminder of myself in you, but also of other more delicate acquaintances. I will no longer sit idly by while innocent lives are ruined for the sake of Rome and its indifference. I feel there is a debt I must repay. There are many lives ended that should not have been, innocence robbed away, and chances, freedom, and opportunity granted to those far less worthy. I suppose I seek to balance Fate’s scales.”

“Iustitia’s scales,” Nasir corrected. “Not Fate’s. Iustitia.” Justice, or perhaps vengeance—those were motivations Nasir could understand. “You still have much to learn, Thracian.”

“Then perhaps we shall teach each other,” Spartacus said. 

He held his forearm out in a gesture of goodwill and friendship. Nasir did not hesitate as he offered his own.


End file.
